


Under The Big Top

by lil_1337



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-07
Updated: 2006-04-07
Packaged: 2017-11-06 21:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/423491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lil_1337/pseuds/lil_1337
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trowa shows off his less public performance skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under The Big Top

_The tent has been erected. Come play under the big top._

Quatre swallowed hard, fighting down the desire those few words, left in a breathy tone on his voice mail stirred up in him. He'd managed to cut the drive time from his office to the circus down to twenty minutes which was in his estimation still about nineteen and half minutes too long. Crossing the dirt lot, that would later that day be filled with family vehicles of all shapes and sizes, at a trot he ducked into the tent that dominated the landscape.

He expected to find his lover waiting for him, but was met with an eerie silence instead when he stepped into the darkened interior. Giving his eyes a moment to adjust he looked again. Trowa was here somewhere. The message was too explicit for him to have misunderstood it.

"Trowa?"

He called out, and then waited for a response. There was no sound but the creaking of the canvas and the muffled voices of the circus performers outside as they hurried about their tasks. He frowned, and then stared as a whisper of fabric floated past his face to land on the ground at his feet. Bending down he picked it up. That was Trowa's t-shirt. There was no mistaking it. It was the one Quatre had loaned him the last time Trowa had slept over.

Quatre stood then slowly raised his eyes, scanning the tangles of ropes and poles that served as supports. Up past the platforms for the trapezes to the high wire. His eyes locked on Trowa, who acknowledged his gaze with a slight smirk as he slid into the splits. Lazily he leaned over and began to untie his boot. A moment later there was a solid thunk as it hit the ground followed by a gray-toed sock. Balancing himself careful, Trowa shifted so he was now facing the other direction. More slow and graceful movements led to the shoe and sock being joined by their mates.

Gingerly, Trowa returned to a standing position, his eyes never leaving Quatre's. His balance as always perfect with precise knowledge of where his body was in space and what it was doing. He stood for a long moment, arms outstretched before unbuttoning and then unzipping his jeans. As Quatre watched, frozen to the spot for fear of missing even a second of the show being preformed just for him, Trowa went down into a crouch. Then rose from it with his jeans pooled around his ankles. A foot has raised and then a step forward taken as first one then the other leg was freed from the denim confining it. Trowa hooked his toes under the heavy material and kicked it up in the air, catching it with ease. These too then found their way onto the neat pile of clothing growing at Quatre's feet.

Again he crouched, this time launching himself out into space. Quatre's heart was pounding in his chest as Trowa caught the trapeze hanging out of his view in the shadows. His breath was coming in gasps from a mixture of desire and fear. Quatre wiped his hands on his trouser legs, his hand unconsciously moving closer to the center of his need.

Trowa kicked his legs, leisurely building up speed before bending his body almost in half to swing his legs over the bar. He wrapped them around the supports holding the trapeze and let go with his hands, swinging in smooth, graceful arcs. Closing his eyes, he slid his hands up his chest and abs, palming himself through the thin material of his boxers.

A soft moan escaped Quatre's parted lips and he swallowed hard. The fear of a moment ago was gone, lost in the lust induced haze that was now filling his brain. He wanted to touch Trowa so badly. Touch him, taste him, breathe him. See him in all his naked glory. As if reading his mind Trowa lifted his hips and slid his boxers up his legs so they rested just below his knees.

Trowa pulled himself into sitting position on the bar and using only the motion of his legs worked his boxers down so they hung, precariously balanced on the end of one foot. Swing, kick, and they floated down, coming to rest over Quatre's face, muffling the moan that the sight had garnered. The material was soft and it held in it the musky odor of desire mixed with a slight hint of Trowa's cologne and something that could only be identified as the scent of Trowa himself.

"I'm waiting."

Trowa's voice was low and husky. Need etched into every syllable, every sound. Quatre was already moving, the boxers having fallen from his hand to the pile on the floor, before the rope ladder hit the floor.


End file.
